Consultations
by TeahWeah
Summary: Frustrated with everything, Angelina receives consultings from Montague.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Sometimes I wonder to myself why is this even possible? Is this even sane? What we're doing… is this acceptable? Should I even be doing this?

But he… Him. Him. We never liked each other, it seemed to me. Hell, obscenities thrown around between us all the time could never be considered as 'like'. We loathed each other. We hated each other to the point that I had more than fifty injuries because of him.

It's a restriction. An unwritten Hogwarts rule. Gryffindor's are not civil with Slytherin's. It's just there, the kind of thing you're expected to do. Even a 'hi' between each other would make the whole school react.

Eventually, things found a way to twist around. I'm not exactly sure _how_ it turned around but I would like to know. Aren't we a taboo?

It happened. The taboo, I mean. It happened in my last year of Hogwarts.

I was more than frustrated that day. How could that happen to me? How could three people be kicked out of my team in the period of less than one day? After the frustration and telling people I'm going to sleep, I didn't exactly go to bed. I took my broom and escaped through the window of my dorm leaving a note to Alicia saying I'd be back later. Don't worry. Blah blah.

Flying makes me feel at ease. I forgot all my worries I forgot Harry. I forgot Fred. I forgot George. It's just me, the sky and my destination: The Quidditch Pitch.

But my worries came back as I saw a speck of torso. Montague.

I hesitated for a moment as I was suspended in the air. I thought about going back, and I made my decision. I did go back but I think Montague saw me and for some reason, he caught up with me and the next thing I know, he was hovering over me.

"How are you coping?" He asked. As if we're good friends. I snorted at the thought.

"Fuck off," I said as I turned to the direction of the Quidditch pitch. I really need to fly. Even if he's tailing me around, I really, really need to fly. It's therapeutic.

And he did tail me. It was annoying. I was paranoid, too. Part of me was on the verge of kicking him in the face as he followed behind me. While the other part of me thought that this is another attempt for Montague to patronize me. He's going to kick me off _my_ broom. He's going to push me off the stick I was mounting so I'd fall down to the ground like I'm nothing.

But he didn't push me off at all. Half an hour I was flying with the wind crashing on my face, he didn't do anything at all to piss me off. Not even calling me a Gryffindork; which is the least offensive thing a Slytherin could muster when it comes to insults.

I finally stopped in mid air and turned to him who follow suit.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice sounded like I have been beaten half way to my death. I was _that_ tired.

"I'm making sure you won't kill yourself," he answered.

I gave him the deadliest look I can gather my face muscles to do. I don't need this bull shit from him. No more bull shit. No more.

"Thank you for your concern but I would rather kill myself than having you soaring behind me," I answered.

He looked at me, no emotions swirling inside his grey eyes. How does he do that? How could he cover up what he's thinking? Why can't _I_ do that? It would be nice to have a face that no one can read. Like his face. I want that ability.

"Come down to the stands for a moment," he said as his hand pointed at the audience stand, "It's cold here."

I don't know what made me do it, but I listened to his suggestion. We flew to the stands together and sat down on the provided chairs. Sitting down made me realise just how exhausted I was and all of the sudden—being on grounds instead of soaring up in the air—all my troubles came back to me. Shit, I am a dead woman.

"You celebrated," I said quietly, "Ginny Weasley heard you laughing about your beater getting lines instead of being cut out from the team."

Why am I even saying this to him? Why am I even talking to him? My brain was fighting with my every fibre at that moment. _Fly away, Angelina. Fly away._

"Listen," he said, "I did laugh it off only because he's a bint who can barely write lines to save his life. Johnson, you wouldn't believe it but a small part of me actually feels sorry for you."

"Just a small part?" I asked. I snorted. How come I'm not shouting at him? I must be _that_ dead beat

"I've watched you train your team," he continued, "You're a crazy woman. You work your team to their bones. I wouldn't do anything like that even with my level of commitment over my House's victory."

"You shouldn't care for me," I insisted, I think I sounded angry, "I have more burdens now. You should be laughing at me instead of talking to me. You shouldn't be consulting me, Montague. Go back to your dorm and celebrate. Poor Gryff and her team. _Not_!"

"Shut up," he snapped. Voice as equally angry as mine.

"You're not suppose to care for me," I said through gritted teeth. Fuck. Why am I so angry with him? Is it because he's a Slytherin? Is it because it's unethical for him to care over someone. The someone being me? Me, his opponent. Me, Angelina Johnson.

"Johnson, you're my rival," he sighed, slumping down on his chair, "You're my equal. I see only you who is strong enough to be my equal competition. You just care about your rival, Johnson. You tell yourself you don't but fuck, you just care. It's like a subconscious bullshit. You know their weaknesses, you know their strength. You can't help it but have that fucking need to know the progress of your enemy."

"I know," I replied, quietly. He just made a point… All those times _I_ spied on his team practices. "But you're not supposed to care for me like… like… like _this_. You're not supposed to give me consulting when I'm weak. You're supposed to laugh at me and stomp at me when I'm down. It's a Slytherin thing to do, Montague; and maybe the bludger hit you extra hard just now but let me remind you: You. Are. A. Genuine. Slytherin."

"I'm doing this more as a gentleman than I am doing this as a Slytherin," he answered, standing up and leaning on the rail of the stand. His eyes were transfixed on my body. My limp body that was too tired to even do anything. To even discuss this with him. Whoever he is. Because I don't think I recognize him anymore. I never had seen this side of him.

I snorted at his answer but then again, it could be true. The gentleman part, that is. Montague comes from a family of the higher status with parents who pay an instructor to teach their children how to dance. I wondered vaguely if he can tango or waltz. I know I can't.

"Johnson," he moaned, "I don't want you to give up just because you lost three people. Do your hardest. You won today's game."

"But we both lost," I whispered. _We both lost_, the words echoed in my head again and again.

"Equal," he said, "We both lost. We're more equal than you think."

I nodded and stood up from the chair. I feel so much better now because of _him_. How I managed to tolerate him like that is beyond me. Maybe it was all those times we trade insults to one another. My level of patience towards Montague is high. Because of our insults. Wow.

I sighed to myself. Katie and Alicia can never manage to make me feel like this. Whenever I'm down, that's it. They will fail to cheer me up. Of all people who have succeeded to cheer me up, it's him.

"Thanks," I muttered and mounted my broom. Before I flew, I took out my hand. He shook it and nodded and gave me a look. A look saying, _'this never happened'_. I nodded back thinking _no one would believe me anyway_ and I was gone. Back to my dorm where I can finally rest my weary head.

Some Hogwarts taboos aren't so bad.

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Author's note:

-If reviewed, thank you.


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